


You won't be seeing us today (you won't be seeing us in hell)

by Beleriandings



Series: It changes you [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Audio Fix-It 03: The House of the Dead, F/M, Fairytale elements, Gen, Gwen sort of accidentally becomes an eldritch goddess for a bit?, Horror, M/M, Moderate Body Horror, Series 03 Fix-It: Children of Earth (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: One day, Syriath took Gwen's voice.She should have realised Gwen wouldn't stand for that.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: It changes you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123109
Comments: 38
Kudos: 56
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: The Year That Never Was Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is basically a rewrite of the BBC audio The House of the Dead, and will make a LOT more sense if you've listened to it (and also contains huge spoilers for it!)  
> You can listen to The House of the Dead [here](https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b012fqsz), or see a transcript [here](https://sariagray.livejournal.com/81114.html).

Rhys was on the very point of falling asleep, when Gwen’s voice was taken from her.

As he always did, he’d been holding Gwen in the restless darkness that seemed to persist these days; the world had changed, after the 456 and Ianto and the short few days that had seen the end of Torchwood. Before that there had been nightmares, yes, for both of them, though it had most often been him comforting Gwen. These days, though, were different; the nightmares these days seemed more real, pressing in close around them with the same heaviness as the grief.

Tonight they’d gone to bed early. Gwen had been exhausted, tiring more easily in the later stages of her pregnancy. Rhys had fallen asleep holding her, as much good as that would do to keep her and their child from the horrors that populated the world outside.

It was just as Rhys was beginning to slip into the edges of a dream that Gwen jolted awake beside him, screaming without a sound.

Rhys sat up too, blinking and gasping in shock as he was violently wrenched from sleep, instinctively reaching out to clutch at Gwen’s shoulders. She was sitting bolt upright, hair falling half across her face in wild disarray, eyes so wide he could see the whites all around.

Her mouth was open, her face a mask of horror as though she was screaming her lungs out, but no sound came.

“Gwen!” he gasped, reaching for her and stroking her arms. “Gwen, love, what is it? ...Is it the baby?” he felt a sharp twist of horror, pushing her hair back from her face and putting the other hand on her stomach, over where hers had gone protectively to the swell of her bump; he knew she was as terrified of something going wrong with the pregnancy as he was. Gwen almost seemed to think she was cursed, that she couldn’t be allowed to keep something so precious to her as their child; actually, he didn’t blame her for feeling that way, with the number of people Gwen had cared for who had been taken from her far too soon.

But Gwen just shook her head silently, staring at him and trying to speak. She spoke soundlessly, the sight oddly surreal; she appeared to be talking as normal, but no words were coming, nor even the sound of her quick breaths drawn in and out. It was like a video image with the volume turned to mute, he thought.

Lip curling in silent frustration, Gwen levered herself up out of bed – with some difficulty – and motioned urgently for Rhys to follow. Confused and frightened, he followed her out into the hallway and to the kitchen, where she’d turned on the light and was sitting down at the table.

The kitchen table was covered in notebooks and documents, everything they’d managed to save from the Hub’s ruins – precious little so far, he knew, in comparison to the scale of the archives – that Gwen was determined to preserve, and to keep from getting into the wrong hands. There were also a multitude of other documents; inventories, lists, contacts, a folded map of the city they’d been using to mark Rift events and weevil activity hotspots, as if there was anything they could do about it with only the two of them.

“Oh, here, I’ll move some of this lot–” began Rhys. But he frowned, as Gwen shook her head violently, grabbing a notebook and a pen and scribbling something down on the paper so hard she almost tore through.

Rhys frowned as he read.

**SHE’S TAKEN MY VOICE**

He blinked, disturbed, sitting down beside Gwen who was staring up at him with horror in her eyes. “Who?” he said, rubbing her shoulder; if this was a nightmare, then he would talk gently to her and go along with it until it passed. If it wasn’t… well. He didn’t want to think about that just yet. “Love, who has?” he asked.

But Gwen just shook her head helplessly; clearly, she didn’t know. But she leaned down and underlined what’s she had written, gesturing in panic at her throat.

“Okay” said Rhys, leaning forward and hugging her, kissing her temple. “Don’t panic, Gwen love. Is there anything I can do?”

Again, Gwen tried to speak, but no sound came out. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she turned the page and scribbled something down.

**SHE’S USING MY VOICE TO HURT IANTO AND JACK**

**I HAVE TO STOP HER**

Rhys’s heart clenched in his chest; grief, then, and nightmares. “ _Gwen_ ” he said. “Ianto’s...”

But she shook her head in vehement insistence, writing again.

**HE’S BACK**

**I DON’T KNOW HOW**

**BUT SHE’S GOT HIM AND SHE’S USING MY VOICE**

**AND ONLY I CAN STOP HER**

“...Okay...” said Rhys doubtfully, casting a careful eye over Gwen. She still looked terrified, utterly heartbroken and distressed. But surely this couldn’t just be the lingering effects of some nightmare, or some delusion… could it? If Gwen’s time with Torchwood had taught him anything, it was that it was often difficult to tell. “Okay” he said again, thinking aloud even as he made a decision. “Okay, Gwen. What do you need?”

Once again, she turned over another page and began to write.

**I NEED TO GET TO THE CITY CENTRE**

**I THINK I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE**

“Right” he said. “Can you show me on the map?”

She threw down the pen and notebook, shoving them aside as she reached for the map of Cardiff. She nearly tore the paper in her haste as she spread it out on the table in front of them, casting around for a moment before bringing her finger down on a spot near the city centre, grabbing the pen again and circling it emphatically.

“There?” said Rhys, squinting and trying to remember what was on that street. “That’s… that pub, isn’t it? The one all the ghost tours stop at.”

Gwen nodded emphatically, already starting to get up and go to the door.

“Oi, where d’you think you’re off to!” said Rhys, barring her way. “You think you’re going without me?”

For a moment Gwen stared at him, and he knew she was about to try to argue. He put his hand on her arm, where it was tensed against the door frame.

“Gwen” he said. “You’re seven months bloody pregnant, you’re still spending every day running yourself ragged, and it’s the middle of the night. You _really_ shouldn’t be doing this at all.” He saw her frown, ready to argue, voice or no, but he held up a placating hand, with an encouraging smile. “...At least let me drive you there.”

She stared at him for a moment more, opening her mouth and closing it.

And then she silently let out her breath, smiling and rolling her teary eyes as she clutched his arm and dragged him after her.

* * *

Gwen felt fear blazing through her, stretching every moment to an infinity of time as they drove. Rhys kept up a constant stream of soothing chatter, but though she was deeply grateful for some sound – silence would have hurt the most – she could barely take in a thing he was saying. She gazed out the passenger side window at the streetlights passing by, the flat orange glow illuminating the damp tarmac in pools of glimmering light, her body impatient and tense in every muscle. She wished she could speak, that she could pour out the fears that had woken her. But her voice just wouldn’t come, as though someone – or some _thing_ – had stolen it away.

Which was exactly what had happened, Gwen knew. She shuddered in fear as she remembered the dream; she couldn’t remember all the details, but there was enough, a presence inside her head, and there were Jack, and _Ianto_ … Ianto was in her dreams a lot since he’d died, of course. But this one felt different.

That was because it hadn’t been a dream, Gwen knew. It was real.

And whatever it was, she was going to face it.

Still, she couldn’t help but be afraid as Rhys drove her to the place, her voice mute.

She was even more afraid when it came back.  
They were nearing the spot then, turning the corner of the street where they were supposed to be going; the pub was called the House of the Dead, advertising itself as the most haunted pub in Wales, which was at least fitting, she thought. As they rounded the corner though, Gwen felt a sort of tearing sensation in her throat. At the exact same moment she saw a bright light flare to life at the other end of the street.

Gwen didn’t think; she simply began to scream, her voice tearing out of her again. Rhys swore, nearly screeching to a halt but just managing to stop himself, causing several passing cars to sound their horns at him. He darted a glance at Gwen, looking as terrified as she felt. “Voice is back, is it?”

“Y-yeah” rasped Gwen, rubbing her throat. “B… but… Rhys. I’m afraid it means… she doesn’t need it anymore.”

He didn’t even ask what she meant; he just pressed the accelerator, speeding up the street. “Best hurry up then, eh?”

* * *

She made Rhys stop half a street away; she didn’t want him too near. “ _Stay here_ ” she told him sternly, as she got out of the car. She didn’t think it was likely that he would, not if she was in danger, but it was worth a try at least. “You hear me, Rhys Williams?”

“No promises” he said. He raised his eyebrows, stopping her protest. “Don’t look at me like that, Gwen. I told you, I shouldn’t even have agreed to letting you come at all. But then again, maybe I would’ve had more of a job stopping you.” He smiled. “Go on. Save the world. I’ll still be here.”

She leaned down through the rolled down window and kissed him gratefully, savouring the feeling of his lips on hers, letting it comfort and calm her for a moment. Then she turned and started running up the road towards the light.

It was difficult, running while this pregnant; she hadn’t been doing as much running in the last few months as she had been before, in her Torchwood days. Of course, she was still Torchwood – as evidenced by the gun at her side and whatever nightmares lay ahead of her. But still, she was already feeling weary and slow by the time she made it to the pavement outside the pub.

She was just in time to see a very familiar figure come running out, narrowly missing colliding with her. “ _Jack?!?_ ”

He blinked at her, steadying himself, eyes wide and filled with tears, taking her in with utter confusion. “ _Gwen?_ ...What’re you doing here?”

“Something stole my voice!” she gasped. “It was using it to...” she broke off, thinking back over the dream, taking in the tears on Jack’s face, the utterly devastation in every line of him. She turned slowly and looked into the doorway of the pub; inside, it seemed to blaze with blinding white light. But within the doorway, she could see the dark outline of a figure, the brightness surrounding them almost too much to look at, burning their silhouette into her retinas.

She turned back to Jack, the image still there, tears of her own blurring his face now. “Jack” she said, words hushed and trembling. “Is that... Ianto…?”

Slowly, he nodded, another tear rolling down his face. “He made me leave” he said. “Ran back in himself. He’s got this box, he’s going to destroy it, and her. Syriath. Seal the Rift, with her inside.”

“ _Syriath!_ ” said Gwen, the name striking some chord inside her, from her dream. No, not a dream, she knew. “That’s her! The one who took my voice!”

Jack stared back at her, wordless and uncomprehending. “Gwen… you shouldn’t be here, you–”

“Shush. No” she said, putting her fingers over his lips, conscious they were running out of time as the Rift-light grew brighter. She kissed Jack on the forehead, trying to calm him. “I’ve got a plan. I’m going to fix this.”

“Gwen! You are not going in there, you can’t, Ianto wouldn’t want–”

“Shut up!” she shouted, rounding on him with more aggression than she had intended. “You left us, Jack! Me and Rhys, you left us with our baby and our grief for Ianto, and the whole city, no the bloody _world_ to clean up. You don’t get to be my boss anymore. You don’t get to tell me what not to do.”

He stared like she’d slapped him in the face. “ _Gwen_...” he said softly.

“...Oh God. Sorry, Jack” she said, instantly regretting her words. Her face hardened. “But I’ve got to go. I’ve got a plan. I have to at least _try_.”

And this time, he didn’t try to stop her as she turned, running towards the light.

As she came closer to it time seemed to slow, until she crossed the threshold and the world outside simply stopped. She turned back, seeing Jack behind her, frozen in time at the gate with wide eyes.

Well, no help there then, she thought, turning to the light.

Gwen stuttered to a halt, wide-eyed and frozen in the doorway, staring with her mouth open.

Slowly, the figure standing in front of the light turned to face her; bright light fell on the planes of a very familiar face, and she recognised him immediately, with a gasp of indrawn breath.

“...Ianto?”

He turned to look at her; he looked drained of colour by the harsh light, almost like a ghost. But even as he opened his mouth to speak, another voice echoed out, loud and grating; it seemed to reach into her very soul, drowning out Ianto’s words before they would come.

“ _Gwen Cooper_ ” it said, echoing right through her. Something about the way it said her name rooted her to the spot in front of that brilliant light. “ _You are not supposed to be here._ ”

Gwen’s eyes widened as the light brightened, and now she could see that it was coming from a great tear in the space inside the pub; the Rift, she knew. It was rustling and crackling as it expanded; as she watched, something was beginning to clamber from it, something with too many arms and legs, long and spindly and limned with harsh white light, too bright to look at.

It was climbing out of the Rift, glowing with the light of it where it was in contact. But as it extended it started to turn grey, feathered and almost birdlike, with too many spindly, taloned limbs and great beaked head made of light. She saw Ianto’s eyes widen, and he raised a small box he was holding in his hand, making as if to throw it into the blinding light of the Rift.

But before he could get a good throw a clawed limb extended, fearfully fast, and snatched Ianto up, the box falling uselessly from his hand. Gwen screamed, reaching out to grab him. But it was too late; he went instantly limp, unconscious in its grasp. Or at least she hoped he was unconscious, she thought as pain expanded in her chest; either way, he hung inert in the grasp of this creature that was clambering out of the Rift, held too high for her to reach.

“What’ve you done with him?” Gwen shouted up at it, not backing down.

“ _He is dead, which makes him mine_ ” said the creature, its voice causing gooseflesh to erupt all across her skin; there was something screeching about it, discordant but heavy with raw power, like a thousand carrion birds screaming at once. It shook Ianto in its grasp, like a petulant child with a rag doll. “ _He was my little puppet, to catch Jack Harkness. It didn’t work, but no matter. I shall have to settle for the world instead._ ”

“Give Ianto back to me!” snarled Gwen. “Go back where you came from!”

A laugh, horrible and filled with screams and slithering, the slip and rustle of rotting flesh and bone and a stench of decay rolling along with it. The creature raised its head, coming further out of the light to loom over Gwen. Its face was now that of a vulture’s skull, its fearfully sharp beak coming to a bloody point, feathers stained with dried blood and viscera, with eyes as black as the void. Its hair was long and dark and oddly human, yet drifting out behind it on some wind Gwen could not feel, backlit by the Rift-light.

As she watched, it grew more and more bird’s feet, the scaley flesh on them decaying and reforming, over and over, leaving footprints of black oil and a warm stench of rot. But though some parts of it were bird-like, the way it moved was more like some sort of monstrous insect, a carrion beetle perhaps. “ _I am Syriath_ ” she said. “ _I do not answer to you, human child_.”

Gwen glared up at Syriath, refusing to be intimidated. She’d heard stories in her younger days, was the thing; ancient stories, the kind that had lived in her family for generations, lived in the very ground below her it sometimes seemed. She’d actively looked for them, after Jasmine and the fairies. After Owen, and Tosh, and Ianto, she had redoubled her efforts, hoping she’d find something, anything… but she’d never found much she could put into practice, in all those dusty volumes and questionable first-hand accounts in decades worth of salvaged material from the Torchwood archives.

Until now. Because the dream had given her an idea, or the start of one. She hadn’t been lying to Jack when she said she had a plan. It was tenuous, maybe, but it was all she had. “Except… except, you owe me” Gwen said, trying to keep the tremble from her words. “You stole my voice. You can’t do that, not without giving me something in return.” She raised her eyebrow, encouraged by the slight shudder that ran through Syriath’s monstrous form. “The laws of the universe don’t allow it.”

Syriath didn’t respond, but merely growled, a sound like the death wails of thousands, bringing her vulture’s head down so she was staring Gwen in the face from above.

“And you can’t touch me, either” said Gwen, smiling as her theory was confirmed. “You have a hold over the dead, but you can’t actually do anything to the living. Only use the dead to manipulate them. I’m right, aren’t I?”

She snarled, talons tightening on Ianto. “ _I will crush your Ianto Jones and fling him into the void,_ _make it_ _so he never existed!_ ” she screeched. “ _And I will do the same to you!_ ”

“Aren’t you listening?” said Gwen. “You can’t! You physically can’t. And anyway, you owe me, for the time you used my voice.” Still, Syriath trembled, and Gwen felt emboldened. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she said. “Tell me I’m right.”

“ _You_ … _are_ _…_ _right_ …” the words were redolent with hatred and fury, as though Syriath was being compelled to say them by some greater force. Which she was, Gwen surmised. “ _Curse… you_...”

“Uh-huh” said Gwen. “Now, for the loan of my voice – for which you did not ask permission, thank you very much – I’ll want something in return.”

A shuddering roll in Syriath’s form, and several more limbs erupted from her bulk, flesh and feathers sloughing to the ground in a decaying hail of pieces. “ _Name…_ _it_...”

“I want Ianto back” said Gwen, suddenly nervous again. “And I want you to leave this world. Go back down below the Rift and stay there, for good.”

Syriath laughed, cruel and screeching, holding Ianto’s limp body upside down. “ _You ask for too much_. _That is not payment in kind, little one._ ”

Gwen frowned, certain – without knowing exactly why – that it was true. There was something about Syriath’s voice, something that was compelled to speak fundamental truths of the universe, though she might twist them and use them to deceive. But such a voice could also speak things into being in themselves, making and unmaking by words alone. She’d heard something like that in a story somewhere, and she was sure it applied here.

“ _Though if you give me your little child too, I might just consider it_ ” said Syriath, breaking into her thoughts and extending another talon to trace a line inches from Gwen’s stomach. Gwen recoiled, before the knowledge that Syriath couldn’t actually touch her permeated her mind; rationally she knew it to be true, but with that death-laden claw so close to her baby, she didn’t _feel_ safe. Syriath only laughed at her reaction. “ _Time is ticking, Gwen Cooper. Make your choice. Do you accept my bargain? Your Ianto Jones, and I leave the world for good, in return for the loan of your voice and the heart of your child,_ _plucked from inside you_ _._ ”

“No! You will _never_ have my baby!” snarled Gwen. And with that the idea came all at once, blooming bright in Gwen’s head. “I’ll ask for something different then” she said, confident again. “You borrowed my voice, for a little while. I only want to borrow yours, for the same amount of time.”

At this, Syriath smiled. It was a horrible sight; where before, Gwen could have sworn her face resembled the skull of a vulture – and on some level, still did – now it seemed to have teeth, needle-sharp and cruel, the mouth stretching impossibly wide to show far too many, with strips of decaying flesh between. “ _That is a fair bargain_ ” she said, casting Ianto to one side carelessly like she’d already forgotten him, to crumple in a heap on the floor. Gwen had to steel herself not to run over to him, to pull him into her arms. “ _Let us seal it with a kiss_ ” said Syriath.

Gwen gritted her teeth, knowing what she had to do. Forcing herself not to vomit, and trying not to inhale too much, she leaned forward. She kissed the yellowed bone beak in front of her face as hastily as she could, at the tip where it curved downwards into a razor-sharp spike meant for tearing flesh.

As she did, something in the world shifted and settled into place. Gwen tried not to shudder, knowing their agreement was now binding.

As soon as it happened, Syriath reared back, feathers fluffing up as she cackled with horrific, slithering laughter, filled with the click of dead bones. “ _Then_ _to repay my debt,_ _you shall have my voice, little one!_ ” said Syriath, words dripping with truth as she chuckled cruelly. “ _Fool!_ _It will kill you before you can use it._ _A_ _weak thing like you can_ _not_ _wield the power of life and death_.”

“Oh, yeah?” snarled Gwen, anger rising again. “Bloody try me!”

“ _It will kill you, and then I will plunge my beak into your chest and eat your carrion heart, and your little child’s_ _all the same_ _, before she ever knew the_ _living_ _world_ _at all_.”

“No you won’t!” screamed Gwen. “I’ve survived everything! I’ve survived when my friends died and I’ve survived when I wished I hadn’t, and when it hurt. It fucking _hurt_! But I’m not letting you eat me, or my baby. Or Jack or Ianto, or my husband, or this city. Not on my watch. ...And if the alternative is you taking over the world and killing everyone anyway, then there’s no way in hell I’m going down without a fight” She spread her arms. “So give me your voice. I can take it.”

Another horrible laugh, that crawled up her back like spiders. “ _As you wish, little one_.”

And with that, Syriath unfurled another arm – and now her limbs looked so unlike those of a bird that Gwen wondered how she’d ever seen a similarity, too many joints and rotting flesh sloughing off clicking white bone – and brought up a single talon, darting out towards her, faster than she could have imagined possible; Gwen almost screamed and ducked, lest it slice her head clean off.

But once again the talon stopped, frozen inches from her throat. Gwen stood as still as she could, refusing to flinch as the curved back of the talon – sticky with decaying flesh and old blood and things she didn’t want to name – ran up her neck, from her sternum to up to the bottom of her chin. As it did, she felt something flow into her, a consuming darkness that spread from her neck through her chest and up into her brain. It clouded her vision, filling her with burning and freezing and horror, making her finally open her mouth and scream aloud as Syriath drew back. For a long, drawn-out moment she was utterly convinced that she was dying, that this, this power and this sound coming from her, would crush her like an insect in another moment.

But as Syriath drew back from her, Gwen realised she _wasn’t_ dying. In fact, she felt powerful, the force inside her starting to lift her off her feet. She felt her scream begin to change, becoming a song; she wasn’t a good singer, never had been, but this felt so easy, as natural as breathing. But then, the song coming from her felt like nothing human, nothing of this world.

She felt it curl through her, cradling her and binding her with its power. Once, she might have felt afraid for Anwen – and suddenly she knew her baby was, or would be, or had been, called Anwen even though she and Rhys hadn’t quite settled on the name yet, and she also knew everything else about her, could see her whole life laid out before her, and the past, and all the chains of cause and effect leading backwards and forwards in time – but like this, Gwen felt sure of everything, sure of the power she held in her throat and was singing out to wrap around the world, to keep it safe and balanced.

It was power over life and death, this song, Gwen knew; it was a weighty responsibility, but she’d never felt so strong. She felt her song reach out and touch Syriath, extending out to push her back easily, shoving her through the Rift like she was posting a letter. Syriath struggled, but she was pathetically weak in the face of Gwen’s power; she didn’t even have a voice to scream with. Then she was gone, sent down to oblivion below the Rift once more.

But Gwen wasn’t done yet. She felt so strong; it was so terrifyingly, exhilaratingly easy, to reach out with the edges of her awareness to close the Rift. She simply had to sing into being a vast pair of hands, that pinched the edges of time and space back together and pressed them closed, willing them to stay that way until the end of time. Keeping the city safe; wasn’t that what she’d signed on to do, when she’d joined Torchwood? Now, she could close the Rift forever: she willed it, she _spoke_ it, and so it was done. She simply ran her song-fingers along the seal one last time for good measure, and in another moment there wasn’t even a scar there, the last Rift-light going out, Syriath’s sphere of frozen time around her dissipating with a soft _pop_.

And she still wasn’t done. With a mere thought, she reached out for Ianto, who sat up where he lay, alive and blinking with confused terror. It had been so easy, she thought; one little mortal life. The way humans lived and died felt like blinking in the darkness. All she had to do was wish him back and there he was, breathing once more, small human heart beating away its finite rhythm in his chest. So simple, saving the ones who loved him from grief.

 _Grief_ … Gwen remembered that. She’d never have to feel it again, like this. There was so much possibility now, colours she’d never known before, never imagined as possible. The world shuddered and shook, filled with the weight of possibility, life and death layered atop and over and through each other like the sedimentary and metamorphic rock that was the root of this land she’d grown from.

Suddenly she found she was aware of _everything_ , the lives of all the people who had lived in this city throughout history and all their minor triumphs and tragedies, everyone here now down to the weevils in the sewers beneath their feet and the thoughts of blood and hunger and avoidance of pain, the lives and loves that would play out for the whole infinite future… all of their experiences existed all at once, pouring into Gwen’s head, and not just them. She could feel the soul of the rock beneath her feet, every creature that had died and been buried and rotted back into it, death and life and every crystalline particle singing back to her; she empathised with them, every single part of existence. When she sang, they sang back.

Was this what it felt like, to be a god? She realised she had drifted up off the ground, simply thinking away the gravity holding her down in her euphoria at the power coursing through her. She could do anything, like this. Every alien invasion, everyone threatening her family… she could snuff them out like a candle flame, send them across the universe into the heart of a sun with a mere thought. Or even more simply, just wish them out of existence and obliterate entire timelines, entire _histories_ , like they’d never happened.

But suddenly, she felt a wash of dizziness roll over her. She blinked, realising that along with the tide of lives, of words and histories, she could feel one very close at hand indeed; a voice, or rather a telepathic presence, inside her. The touch of another mind, small and frightened.

_**Mama!** _

Gwen gasped, almost interrupting herself as the sound still poured out of her. _Anwen?_

_**Mama… scared. Scared!** _

_It’s okay, sweetheart!_ Gwen thought desperately, willing it true every second, her hands coming down to her stomach. _I won’t ever harm you. I love you,_ _and I’m keeping you safe_.

_**Not safe! Scared… stop! Stop, Mama! Hurt, soon. Please, stop!** _

Gwen let out a gasp, realising the truth of it. At the same time, she felt a wash of horror as she realised her vision was beginning to tunnel, as though she was about to black out. She forced herself back into the moment, but she felt the power coursing through her growing more unstable, or perhaps her grip on it weakening. As she had this realisation she felt panic; she knew that if she lost control, she’d lose Anwen first. Then she’d lose Rhys, and Ianto and Jack, and a whole world of innocents who would be cut down by the devastation she’d cause. The power coursing through her no longer felt exhilarating; instead it felt terrifying, controlling her more than she was controlling it, the barrage of feeling and the sense of every being in the world and their lives and timelines too much for her to bear.

With her last control, she channeled what energy she could into a protective cocoon around her middle; she had to protect Anwen as best she could, she knew. Her daughter hadn’t even been born yet, and she was scared, Gwen had heard her unformed thoughts. She couldn’t let her baby be scared; she never, ever wanted her to have to fear.

But the control came with a cost. Gwen couldn’t move anymore, couldn’t stop the power that was now flowing through her, up from her chest and out of her mouth in a torrent, whipping up a wind to spiral around her. A dark mist was starting to slip over her vision, but she could still see, just. A little way off she spotted Ianto, clinging on to a chunk of broken debris from what had been the fence of the pub; she hadn’t even noticed, but the whole building had been destroyed, and she supposed it must have been her.

A moment later she spotted Rhys in her peripheral vision, running down the road towards them, and felt a stab of alarm; _no, go back!_ She wanted to shout. _It’s not safe, it’s got me and I can’t control it_ _much longer! Just run_ _!_ But she couldn’t, her mouth hinged painfully open, jaw locked by the torrent of sound coming from her.

It was all she could do to maintain the protective ward around her unborn baby; she couldn’t protect the rest of them too, much as she wanted to. But still she tried, and found it sapping her strength. It was going to kill her, she knew, she couldn’t maintain this for much longer before giving in.

But before then, she’d bloody well try, some part of her thought. The part of her that had raged when her friends had been killed, that had burned her grief and horror into defiance after the 456, the part that had stood on the shoreline and screamed at the unyielding sea because the world wasn’t supposed to be so cruel. Gwen wouldn’t let Syriath be right, because then death would win, and death always won, in the end. But it would have to go through her first.

And as she was thinking it, she felt a ripple in the fabric of… something, perhaps in time and space itself, as Jack began to run towards her.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack stared into the whirl of chaos, gasping for air as the wind blew his coat about. His eyes darted, desperately seeking out Ianto, and – _yes!_ – there he was, clinging to a half-collapsed piece of cast-iron fence on the other side of what had once been the courtyard. Beside him now was Rhys, scrambling towards him to hold onto Ianto’s sleeve. They were both staring up in abject horror, and didn’t seem to have seen Jack yet.

Because in front of them was Gwen.

Jack’s eyes were blurred with tears as he squinted through the maelstrom. Gwen was floating several feet off the ground, her skin turned a mottled grey, her eyes pure black all over as the wind blew her hair around. Everything about her seemed sharper, more in focus, brighter and clearer in a way that was somehow terrifying, too much sensory input for the brain to take, making his whole mind want to skitter away and hide under a rock like an insect rather than to look at her. But he forced himself to look, for Gwen’s sake. For all their sakes, actually. He watched in horror, unable to shout across the space to stop them, as Ianto and Rhys clung to each others’ arms, inching forwards towards Gwen. He wanted to tell them _no! She’ll kill you! Get to safety and leave this to me!_ But where would be safe, with the whirlwind surrounding Gwen expanding by the moment? And regardless, he didn’t think either would listen to him now; Rhys would do anything for Gwen in a heartbeat, without question. And of course Jack knew that Ianto could be just as stubborn when someone he cared for was in danger. He knew well enough all right, the way Ianto loved; fiercely, loyally, to the point of self-destruction.

Only Jack could save them, then. He cast around desperately, trying to think of some plan as he watched Rhys and Ianto reach out for Gwen. Her whole body was outlined in black that was the utter darkness of the void now, the complete absence of light, that was somehow just as painful to look at as the blazing light of a flare. It burned streaks across his vision in just the same way, but he kept looking; it wasn’t like it would kill him, after all.

It might well kill Gwen though. And her baby, and Ianto, and Rhys, and everyone else in this city, on this entire planet apart from him. Unless he put a stop to it.

Jack’s eyes widened in horror, losing his train of thought as he saw Gwen rise a little higher into the air, arcs of burning darkness flickering out from her like striking lightning. One hit above his head, and though he managed to duck in time – barely – he felt the fearful closeness of it, cold and hot and fearfully _wrong_. Antithetical, somehow, to the ever-burning well of whatever it was that brought him back, and back, and back, to everything what he was. Tugging on the very eternal heart of him, trying to rip it out.

In that moment Jack knew what it felt like; it felt like the utter absence of life, like staring into a black hole. He could feel the hungry, consuming pull of it on him, an implacable force of nature. Trying to fight against something like that would be like trying to refuse the fundamental forces of the universe, to argue with time itself; utterly futile.

Jack had only felt something comparable once before, when he’d been violently thrust back to life the first time. The golden light of the time vortex itself had wrapped around him, stitching him into the fabric of space and time forever. Rose hadn’t meant to do it; he didn’t even know if _she_ knew she’d done it, had never had the chance to ask her. Surely she’d been on the very verge of losing control, just like Gwen was now. The Doctor had said it might’ve killed her, if he hadn’t intervened. She must have been terrified.

The thought made Jack’s heart ache, for Rose’s sake back then and for Gwen’s; both desperate, both risking everything to keep their families safe. But it also gave him an idea, sudden and fearful, and filling him instantly with certainty.

Jack stepped forward, squaring his shoulders and summoning the courage for what he knew he had to do.

* * *

Ianto had inched forward and was holding on to Gwen’s hand as Rhys held the other, the two of them trying their best to keep her on the ground. But it was hard, with the buffeting wind at the centre of a tornado that whirled and spun around Gwen, the black bolts of pure darkness and raw time-stuff that kept rolling and crackling out of her, fearful and blazing. The air in his lungs reeked of ozone, heavy with electric charge. The rolling wash of it almost dragged him back into that terrible cold, death and the fearful void after which he couldn’t remember, exactly, but some part of him didn’t seem to have quite forgotten either. Ianto felt tears on his face – his _living_ face, but for how long? – as he turned to look at Rhys, who was crying too, trying desperately hard to cling to Gwen, calling to her, shouting her name over and over. But the sound of it vanished in the roiling air.

Ianto gritted his teeth; there was nothing they could do, they were just two weak humans against whatever had taken over Gwen, in her attempt to save them. She’d closed the Rift, sealed it away like it never existed, and the sight of how easy it had been terrified Ianto, who had spent years living beside it and subject to its capricious whims.

And now Gwen had lost control of that power, and there was nothing, _nothing_ that could stop, it, and–

And he felt a hand on his wrist from behind, gently prying his hand off Gwen’s. Ianto gasped as he turned around to see Jack, standing beside him, leaning forward to lightly kiss the corner of his mouth and then gently taking his place beside Gwen, pushing Ianto behind him. Ianto was about to protest, when he saw Jack’s hand in Gwen’s begin to swirl and glow with a warm golden light, rising from his pores like it was being sucked out of his skin, in strange counterpoint to the frigid blackness coming off Gwen in arcs. At the same moment she froze, head snapping down to fix her gaze on him. Rhys stared too, squinting with narrowed eyes as golden light swirled away from Jack’s whole body, mingling with the darkness about Gwen.

“Ianto, Rhys, get back!” he heard Jack bark, edging closer in front of him. For a moment Ianto considered disobeying; Jack sounded like he might be in pain. But then Jack glanced over his shoulder and met his eyes, giving him a pleading look. A look that spoke of how alone Jack had been without him, filled with so much desperate, vulnerable love that Ianto found himself stumbling back regardless, as though propelled by a physical force.

Jack was asking Ianto to trust him, to wait, and Ianto couldn’t do anything else but comply.

He grabbed hold of Rhys, pulling him gently back from Gwen. Rhys didn’t want to let go of her, but he didn’t fight too hard; he seemed stunned by horror, eyes fixed on Jack and the light that was now welling and swirling around his chest and clustering around their joined hands. Ianto pushed Rhys to the ground, trying to shield them both as best he could while still trying to see, his heart in his mouth.

Gwen had begun to sink towards the ground again. She was floating just a little way above Jack now, her head tilted back as the gold being drawn from Jack mingled with the burning darkness surrounding her, and both of them were screaming, so loud it rang in Ianto’s ears. For a moment it enveloped both of them in a bright-dark cocoon that seemed to shudder and quake, until–

Until suddenly, it was over. Ianto heard the roaring cease, felt no more wind on his face. He cracked open his eyes just enough to see that Gwen was still floating in the air, though now the soles of her boots were only an inch off the ground, and the nimbus of darkness around her was gone. Her mouth was still open, but she had fallen silent now, no more of that inhuman voice coming out of her. As he watched, Jack pulled her gently down the last little way to land softly on her feet on the ground, enfolding her in a gentle hug as the last of the maelstrom faded away to nothing, the black and the last traces of gold both vanishing with it. Gwen’s eyes were closed, her forehead furrowed like a child having a nightmare where her face pressed against Jack’s shoulder. Ianto breathed out in relief as Jack let her go, slowly and carefully; she stayed standing on her own, breathing slow and even.

But then Ianto started in alarm as the next moment he saw Jack fall, crumpling to the ground in front of her.

He let Rhys go and ran to Jack’s side, dropping to his knees and pulling Jack’s head and shoulders into his lap, ready to sit with him until he came back to life. But Jack wasn’t dead, he realised as he felt a pulse at his throat; sure enough, a moment later Jack blinked back to consciousness, coughing a little as he stirred in Ianto’s arms, a weary smile on his face. Ianto laughed in relief, leaning forward to kiss Jack’s lips.

Jack was laughing too when he drew back, hand reaching up to brush Ianto’s face. “That sure is a thing to wake up to. I’d ask if I’d died and gone to heaven, but–”

“Stop it” said Ianto firmly. “None of that today.”

“Fair enough” said Jack, sitting up. That reminded Ianto of where they were, and what had just happened, and he darted a look to the side, to where Gwen was still standing. After he and Jack helped each other up he was just about to run to her, when he saw Rhys clutching her hand, pulling her into his arms and sobbing into her shoulder, hands clutching at her back.

As he did, her eyes flickered open. To Ianto’s very great relief, they were no longer solid black from corner to corner but ordinary human eyes, her familiar soft green, a little bloodshot and filled with tears as she focused on the man in front of her. “Rhys...” she whispered, voice sounding rather choked and scratchy. She put her hands over her bump, as though to hold her baby for comfort. “Oh, God, Rhys, what did I–”

“Shh, shh” soothed Rhys, putting his hands over Gwen’s, enfolding her in a hug and kissing the side of her head. “It’s okay. I think it’s over now.”

Over Rhys’s shoulder, Gwen seemed to spot Ianto and Jack for the first time; it was almost comical, the way her eyes went huge. “…. _Ianto_ …? God, it’s really you…”

“Gwen! Hello!” Ianto smiled, weary but happy. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“ _Shut up!_ ” she gasped, already running towards him to fling her arms around his chest.

“Oof” she said a moment later, drawing back and putting her hand on her bump. “That’s not as easy as it used to be.”

“Perhaps not, yeah” he agreed, frowning.

Gwen had come over to him and was touching his arm again tentatively; she looked like she half expected it to pass straight through him. “I still can’t believe it. You were _dead!_ I saw your body...” she gave a watery chuckle. “I mean, not that that means much around here, but… I chatted awkwardly to your sister over tea after your funeral!”

Ianto frowned. “Was it good tea, at least?”

Gwen made a wiggly _so-so_ hand gesture. “Had better, if I’m honest.”

“Well that’s just depressing. Next time I die I’m organising the catering myself in advance. My blood relations are far too fond of PG Tips for comfort.”

Gwen burst out in teary laughter. “Oh Ianto. I _missed_ you!”

He felt tears in his eyes as she drew back from him. “Missed you too, Gwen” he mumbled, choking up a bit and smiling self-consciously as Rhys hugged him next.

“Good to have you back, Ianto mate. All joking aside, please don’t _actually_ die again” said Rhys, and Ianto saw a shade of something genuine and hurt in his face, and wondered what it had been like for them in the time he’d been dead. “I don’t think any of us could take it.”

“I will try and avoid it as best I can, yes.”

Jack chuckled, coming up behind Ianto and putting a hand on his waist, and Ianto felt happiness swell in his chest; it really was over. He was getting a second chance. He couldn’t quite believe it, yet here it was.

And oh, he was going to make the most of it.

At that moment, there was a gentle sound behind them where they stood amidst the rubble; the sound of someone clearing their throat. They all started at that, turning as one to see a young woman standing behind them awkwardly holding a phone.

“‘Scuse me! ‘Scuse me!” she said. “I’m looking for the ghosts.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

“At the House of the Dead? Most haunted pub in Wales, it is. They’re holding a séance tonight. I hope I’m not late.”

They all looked at one another for a long moment, then Jack started laughing, bright and infectious. That set Gwen off giggling, slightly hysterically, which made Ianto snort and Rhys start laughing too, as much with relief as anything else, his hand on her shoulder. They laughed and laughed, until they were breathless. The woman in front of them frowned, hands on her hips in annoyance. “Alright, no need to be like that. I was only asking a question.”

“It’s closed” gasped Jack at last, collecting himself a little. “You missed the ghosts. The House of the Dead is gone.”

“But it’s on my SatNav!” she protested, looking doubtfully up at the empty patch of ground where – sure enough – the pub seemed to have entirely disappeared, leaving an only slightly scorched and pitted patch of concrete foundation. “It’s around here somewhere, I know it is.”

They all looked at each other and shrugged, as she walked off squinting at her phone; somewhere in the distance they heard sirens start to wail.

“Maybe we should be making an opportune exit?” suggested Ianto. “I’m definitely legally dead, and I don’t particularly want to spend the rest of the night answering questions about it at the police station. Especially since I highly doubt pulling Torchwood rank is going to help the situation much, after everything that’s happened.”

“Probably true” said Jack, his arm wrapping closer around Ianto, pulling him against his side like he’d never let him go again. Before, Ianto might have balked at so much public contact, but as things stood he was rather enjoying having him so close. “Come on” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“The car’s just down the road” said Rhys, gesturing. “Er, I suppose you can come back to ours if you want?”

“Well, of course. But don’t think this is an excuse to avoid explaining what just happened, Jack” said Gwen, letting Rhys take her arm as they walked. “When we get back, alright? You’re telling us everything that happened tonight, because I’m still confused.”

“Gwen Cooper, you got yourself a deal” said Jack, the smile never leaving his face as he held Ianto close.

* * *

And that was how they had ended up sitting squeezed close on Gwen and Rhys’s sofa, the coffee table covered with a pot of chamomile tea and a plate of toast Rhys had made them, on account of the fact that it was the small hours of the morning and thus nearly time for breakfast. Ianto had offered to help, of course, but Rhys wouldn’t hear of it, citing the fact that he was the guest, and more to the point had been dead this morning and thus well deserved the rest.

Gwen felt a rush of warmth as Rhys sat down beside her, squishing her closer into Ianto’s side. She leaned forward to clear the abandoned maps and notebooks and pens and various small bits of salvage from the Hub off the coffee table to make room for the tea tray. “God I miss coffee” she said to no-one in particular, taking a sip of her tea. “And alcohol. Ianto, immediately after the baby’s born, you’re making me espresso martinis. An absurb number of them in fact. Yes, all at once.”

“We’ll be up for days straight, and feel utterly terrible the entire time” said Ianto cheerily, spreading butter and jam on a slice of toast; she supposed being dead made you hungry. “Ah, the joys of being alive.”

“That’s just what having a new baby is like anyway” chuckled Jack, who had been standing in the corner with his coat still on, hands shoved down into his pockets and watching them intently this whole time, but now reached over Rhys’s shoulder to steal a piece of toast off his plate.

“Okay. Fair point. Anyway, we’re getting off-topic.” Gwen turned on Jack as Rhys smacked the back of his knuckles with the butter knife. “What actually happened tonight, Jack? Explain.”

“You had a better view than I did. And you were the one that made the deal with Syriath!” said Jack, shaking his head and looking slightly awed.

Gwen shrugged. “She took my voice” she said. “She was using it to hurt you and Ianto.” She looked over at Ianto, laying her hand over his, smiling softly. “I couldn’t let her keep you. Not after everything.” She craned back to Jack, who had come around to hang over the back of the sofa, leaning on his elbows. “But… I don’t mean that. I mean after. …I think I miscalculated. I was sure it was going to kill me, for a minute there. Syriath certainly thought so.”

“Syriath underestimated you” said Jack. “She had power, yeah, but without any compassion behind it. She didn’t bank on what would happen if it was used by someone like you, Gwen. Someone so completely human, who just wanted to keep us all safe.” He was grinning proudly, hand on her on the shoulder, both supporting and grounding. “Syriath never stood a chance against that.”

“Damn right!” said Rhys, shuffling closer beside her and pulling her into a one-armed hug. “You were bloody brilliant, love.”

Gwen breathed out, feeling a slight burn at the back of her throat. Her voice had been scratchy since, but no more than a bad cold; it would pass, she knew. “I’m just glad it worked” she said, feeling hot, exhausted tears wet her face again. She’d already cried so much today, from every emotion she could think of and more, but apparently she wasn’t out of tears yet. Jack reached out the hand that wasn’t around Ianto’s shoulders – since they’d got out of there he’d barely let go of Ianto, always touching or holding him, like he intended to never let him go again – and thumbed her tears away, as Gwen reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding Rhys’s and grasped Ianto’s, clinging onto him too.

“Um, what about your baby?” said Ianto doubtfully. “Are you _sure_ this isn’t going to, um… affect anything?”

“Well, the scans all seemed perfectly fine” she said. When they’d got home the first thing they’d done was run every salvaged alien medical scanner they had over her, to put their minds at rest. “And… _oh_...” said Gwen with a slight smile, reaching for Ianto’s hand and putting it on her bump, just in time for them both to feel the kick inside. Ianto’s face froze for just a moment, before breaking out into a delighted laugh. Gwen laughed too, from pure, exhausted joy. “She seems to be doing okay.” She rubbed her hand over her stomach, feeling her baby – _Anwen_ , her name would be Anwen, she remembered from beyond the haze that was rapidly slipping over her memories from before. She didn’t remember everything she’d seen of Anwen’s life, but she remembered that, and she knew, without knowing how, that Anwen would be okay. “She’s already had a lot of adventures for a kid who hasn’t been born yet, hasn’t she?”

“We should still go and get you checked over in the morning. Both of you” said Rhys firmly, looking worried.

Gwen just smiled and pulled him close. “Okay, whatever you like” she said, just to put his mind at rest. “It’ll be alright, though.”

“How do you know?”

“I think I… made sure of it?”

Rhys didn’t look any less confused. But it would be fine, she knew. She was human again, and Anwen was safe, and Rhys was safe and so was Jack.

And Ianto was _back_.

Impulsively, she leaned to the side and hugged him again, unable to keep the grin off her face despite the tears.

He hugged her back. “Hi, Gwen” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Any reason for this? You’re spilling toast crumbs on this very nice jumper I borrowed from Rhys.”

She snorted. “Only that you were dead! I _missed_ you, Ianto!” she said. “I missed you so much!”

She felt him sob into her shoulder. “I missed you too, Gwen. Thank you for bringing me back.”

“Shush, Ianto. You know I couldn’t do anything else. And besides, I’m pretty sure _y_ _ou_ brought _me_ back at the end there.” She drew back, tears running down her face as she looked between the three of them. “All of you.”

“Actually, that was Jack.” Ianto squinted. “...I think?”

“You’re right” said Jack, stepping around the front of the sofa, “I gotta take credit for that one.”

Gwen raised her eyebrows, alarmed by his sudden change of manner. “What do you mean?”

“The power of Syriath’s voice is… _was_ …” Jack shook his head, gesturing, “...over death, over time and destruction and entropy. All natural forces of the universe, not evil in themselves. But she used them to be cruel, twisted them to manipulate people in pain.” He frowned, coming to sit down on the other arm of the sofa beside Ianto. “But that kind of stuff… that power is too much for a human body to bear for long. Much longer and it would’ve killed you, Gwen. I’d have given you a few minutes, maybe less, if I hadn’t intervened.”

Gwen frowned, thinking about this. “How do you know all this, Jack?”

“Because I’ve seen someone do it before” he said, slowly. “Or at least, something comparable. And I didn’t _see_ it, more like _felt_ it, and from what the Doctor told me later… well. I made assumptions.”

Ianto reached down and squeezed his hand, seeing he was drifting.

He smiled, a little sadly, eyes focusing again. “Her name was Rose, and she absorbed the raw power of the time vortex, and used it to destroy an entire dalek fleet. ...She also brought me back from my first death. Permanently.”

Gwen blinked. “ _That’s_ the reason you can’t die?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. Like I said, though, the power would’ve killed her if the Doctor had let her keep it.”

“So why am I not dead?”

Jack was silent, letting go of Ianto’s hand and getting up to go to the kitchen. After a moment of what sounded like rummaging through the drawers, he came back with a kitchen knife.

“What...” she made a soft noise of confused alarm as Jack drove the point of the knife deep into the muscle at the ball of his thumb, grimacing as blood started to flow down his wrist and into his sleeve; he just let it, maintaining eye contact. “Jack!”

“What the hell…?” Rhys fell silent, giving them all blank looks.

Jack said nothing, only wincing and staring, apparently in mingled fascination and horror as the blood continued to flow from his hand, staining his sleeve. “Had to test that” he said, his voice an unreadable mix of emotions as he went back to the kitchen, a clatter of metal and the sound of water running from the tap before it was shut off. “Sorry. I don’t wanna stain your carpet.”

He came back out with no knife and a wad of kitchen roll pressed to the place, quickly turning red with a spreading stain.

“ _Jack_...” Gwen saw Ianto’s eyes widen, getting it a moment before she did. “You’re not healing?!” he said, grabbing Jack’s hand, peeling back the paper towel and scrutinising it closely.

“That light...” said Gwen. “I remember a golden light...”

“Right” said Jack. “You were burning through energy, to keep you alive while the power was killing you. It was sucking everything in, it would’ve sucked the whole city dry, and still you would’ve died. It just needed something of equal power to… cancel it out.” Jack shrugged, his hand still clasped with Ianto’s, who was staring at him intently, getting Jack’s blood on his own hands. “Death, entropy, the endings of things” Jack continued, “not being able to die, all that life in me… it makes a nonsense of all that. And like opposite electric charges, they attract and cancel out perfectly.”

“You let me suck the life force out of you?” said Gwen, as Ianto made a noise of slightly strangled disbelief. “Like Abaddon did? Jack… I am so, _so_ sorry...”

“Not all the life!” said Jack, a slightly distressed smile spreading across his face. “By my best guess, I’ve got around about one normal human life’s worth left.” There was a very slight edge to his voice, but he didn’t seem unhappy, or panicked, or anything else of the sort, Gwen thought. “And so the universe is set to rights.”

Ianto’s mouth hung open, still cradling Jack’s bloody hand. “What are you saying, Jack?”

“I’m _saying_ ” said Jack, turning around and looking at him intently, “If I’ve got one life left, that means no more room for wasting it.” His face softened a little, a bit of vulnerability appearing around his eyes. “...Luckily, I think I know exactly who I want to spend it with.”

Ianto stared at him for a moment, then laughed in joyful disbelief, before leaning forward to kiss him, throwing his arms around Jack’s neck in deep, passionate relief.

Gwen exchanged a stunned look with Rhys, in time to see him raise his mug of tea with a brilliant smile. “Well. Here’s to second chances, I guess.”

Gwen found herself smiling too as she clicked her mug against his.

* * *

_**[Six months later]** _

It was the middle of the night, and Ianto was awake even though there was no immediate alien crisis to attend to. In fact, there had not been since Gwen had closed the Rift. Since then he’d been dividing his time helping look after Anwen and with the excavation and salvage from the Hub site. They were trying to save what they could, but it was a long process and had to be done with great care. Ianto had been pleasantly surprised by the fact that it was the exact sort of job he was suited for, and was so far enjoying his second life very much indeed.

That wasn’t why he couldn’t sleep tonight, though. Well, it was related. The thing was, it had been a year to the day exactly since he had died. It was enough to keep anyone awake, he thought as he stared at the rain running down the window through the crack in the curtains in his and Jack’s bedroom. Beside him, Jack was asleep, breathing evenly. Good, Ianto thought. Let him sleep. Jack had had enough sleepless nights while he was immortal to last him multiple lifetimes, Ianto was certain. And these days, he tended to need more sleep anyway; almost as much as a normal twenty-first century human, which had been odd at first, but he knew Jack was getting used to it, as he was to so many things.

Ianto looked down at Jack’s sleeping face in profile, the loose curl of his hand on the pillow beside it. Ianto could just see the healed-over scar where Jack had stabbed the knife into the ball of his thumb that first night, still pinkish against Jack’s skin. One day it would turn silver, but now the wound was still too recent. Ianto reached out and ran his hand very lightly along the curve of Jack’s jaw, face softened by sleep, fingers threading gently through the side of his hair. One day, he’d have silver coming in; they both would. And, all going to plan, they’d both be here to see it.

Sometimes Ianto doubted whether he’d ever wholly get used to the fact that Jack was mortal now, that he and Ianto got to spend their lives together, truly and genuinely. They’d spoken about it, a bit. Not much – there was still time, of course. They had lots of time now, even though Jack had much less of it.

But still, Ianto worried about him. He smoothed Jack’s hair back down again, taking care not to wake him. He’d always worried about Jack to some degree, but now he had different fears: Jack getting hurt, getting in a car accident because he’d forgotten how to be careful, getting sick, getting targeted by some old enemy. Ianto worried incessantly, and wondered, with a slight feeling of guilt, if this was how Jack had felt about him before.

But still, watching Jack sleep so peacefully, hearing the even rhythm of his breathing… that was reassuring. Ianto leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s temple and resigned himself to no more sleep for a while, stretching in bed.

It was at that moment that he heard a sound, from the room down the hall where Anwen slept. Not crying, he was sure, but a sort of muffled babbling through the wall.

He smiled gently; maybe he wasn’t the only one having a sleepless night. He could at least go see what she needed, and maybe it would also keep him from dwelling on the anniversary of his own death.

He got out of bed, putting on his slippers and dressing gown and quietly slipping through the door, padding down the corridor by touch alone. Silently, he opened the door of Anwen’s nursery, peering down into her cot to see her awake, giggling and burbling happily, waving her arms above her head in the dim glow of–

Ianto blinked in surprise, rubbing his eyes and taking a second look. Above Anwen’s cot were a swirl of dark purple lights, dancing about in the air. They seemed to drift and move of their own accord, sparkling and flickering, emitting soft melodic sounds like struck tuning forks, all different notes. They appeared to be following the paths of Anwen’s chubby little baby hands, glittering a little bit brighter and popping with sparks of pure velvet darkness as she babbled to herself.

“...Huh” said Ianto aloud, in surprise. He leaned over the cot, and Anwen peered up at him with big eyes, the smile on her face growing bigger as she set the lights to dance around him too. “I don’t recall that being one of the baby milestones google told me about.” He put his finger down for her to grab, and as she did he felt the touch of those lights against his skin. Strange and inhuman, but somehow not fearful; almost comforting in the soft darkness. “Where did you learn to do that, eh?” But even as he said it, he thought he knew the answer. Anwen just giggled, squeezing his finger.

“Ianto?” he heard Gwen’s sleepy voice from behind him, and turned in time to see her take in the scene in front of her. “Oh. Oh my God. _Anwen…_?”

“I don’t think it’s hurting her” said Ianto, as Gwen leaned forward in wide-eyed shock. “I think she can just… do this now?”

“...Because of me?” said Gwen, wide-eyed. “Because of what I did?”

“That would be my guess.”

“...Bloody hell” said Gwen, reaching down and picking up Anwen; the lights followed her, dancing all around her head like a pretty purple and black halo. “I didn’t expect that.”

“I _know_. It looks like a year seven disco in here” said Ianto, with a sigh. “Well, I suppose I’d best wake Jack and Rhys. For better or for worse, I think Torchwood is going to have to be back in business, for a while at least.”

Gwen shot him a look, smiling a little resignedly as she bounced Anwen. “Well. I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Please dissuade me from writing more of this “mortal Jack, plus Anwen has baby sorcerer powers I guess?” AU (or like, if you do want that, please also let me know!!!)
> 
> But anyway yes, I hope you enjoyed this! I swear this idea started as total crack (AU where real Gwen shows up during the events of The House of the Dead and yells at Syriath for identity fraud), but then I combined that with my various ideas around the concept of “the plot of The House of the Dead already operates more according to fairytale logic than scifi logic, so what if it operated just a little bit more according to fairytale logic”. And I just love Gwen, and I love her and Ianto’s friendship and I wanted a cool parallel/contrast to Bad Wolf Rose, and I also wanted an AU where Jack and Ianto get to grow old together since I’ve already done immortal husbands. So I put all that in my big soup pot brain and this was the result? I hope you like it? 
> 
> The title is from [The Devil Down Below](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_b7o9rdWms), which is not related to the fic but it’s thematic, well no it’s not, but yes it is ❤️  
> Let me know what you think and/or find me on tumblr @ultraviolet-eucatastrophe!


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